


How to Save a Life

by officersun524



Category: Farscape
Genre: F/M, Farscape - Freeform, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:30:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3336839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/officersun524/pseuds/officersun524
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is part of my shared "Companion Chronicles" series originally posted at Terra Firma Farscape.  This is the companion for Nerve, episode 19, season 1. Aeryn's point of view.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Save a Life

Are we lost or are we living frightened  
Fading, clinging to a friend  
Whats the cost to souls love more enlightened  
A sequel playing out again~~Steven Marks Lazy Sunday Afternoon

 

 

 

 

How to Save a Life

 

 

Her training had failed her.  She'd known it would, all along, as soon as she'd been netted aboard the prison transport that had become her home.  As soon as she'd learned to trust a human, a Luxan, Delvian, Hynerian...even the girl was proving herself a capable shipmate so far.

Nothing he could do this time would be enough. Aeryn knew that as she knelt in front of the fresher, vomiting up damaged tissue.

At first, shed thought nothing of it.  A bad meal, a remnant of her wound at the hands of the Peacekeeper who'd almost pierced her heart.  She'd looked at the scar over and over, standing in front of the mirror, tracing its lines with the tip of her finger. Surgical reconstructors would eventually erase it from her body but she hadn't wanted to proceed with that too quickly.  She'd needed to see it, to remind herself of the consequences of letting down her guard.

When she could no longer eat, when her legs had begun to shake, her arms heavy at her sides, she'd returned to the training bag.  Fight.  Force herself to believe that she was stronger than this one thing, that physical force of will was enough.

That had proven wrong too.

She was ready to die.  The Prowler's readiness for flight was irrelevant. Supplies, weaponry, strategies--all those things that had been so important to a mission didn't matter. She would have timed the Prowler's explosion for the last possible second, burning herself out like the dying stars around her.

Had Crichton not found her in the maintenance bay, fooling herself into thinking she could kick the dren out death, she would already be gone, a speck among so many others.

He stood outside her door, the commando uniform incongruent with the man who wore it.  Compassion colored his face.  That alone was enough to ensure his frelled up plan would end up getting him killed.  She didn't want that death on her head but the truth was, she was incapable of stopping him.

"This mission is foolhardy, Crichton.  It makes no sense for you to be killed as well.  Lets just cut our losses."  Even those few words exhausted her.

"Cut the martyr routine, Aeryn.  I'm not gonna let you die. " 

She bit back her protests.  The last person to have worn that uniform was a battle hardened commando on a secret mission, unkempt, unruly.  John was too innocent, too clean. She wouldnt be there to protect him.

"Crichton, we've reached the designated coordinates."  Even Pilot sounded somber.

"Thank you, Pilot."

Her gaze took him in, committing him to memory as if that could form an invisible thread between them. If the Peacekeepers found him, they'd turn him over to Crais and he would die alone.  That idea was a companion of hers already.  It was a stranger to him.

_Dont go, send me, let me die_  ..."Do humans have some sort of ritual for occasions like these?"   _Do humans even have occasions like these?_  

If he died, would he be reunited with his family, with his friends who'd gone before him?  Was that the hope that propelled him forward, that the end of one life would lead to another, somewhere else?  She had two things: Life. Death.  She'd never before considered that there could be an alternative; she wished she could be certain it existed, for his sake.

"Well," he said.  "There's a handshake, followed by good luck."

She took his hand in hers, used it to bring herself to her feet. Let it anchor her to the ground. "Good luck.  How was that?"

His thumb was over hers, stroking her hand. "Perfect."

They stood there for a moment then he released her, one last reassuring nod and smile as he backed away, his eyes not leaving hers.

Zhaan prayed, she was sure Crichton sometimes did too.  To whatever deity existed she bade one wish:   _Please bring him back alive._

 

 

 

*end*

 


End file.
